


Tether and Torch

by curiositykilled



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor: The Dark World - Fandom
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluffy Angst, Gen, Married Couple, Odin and Frigga's parenting, Parents, Thor 2 Spoilers, character study sort of, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 02:20:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiositykilled/pseuds/curiositykilled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sort of a character study of Odin and his relationship to Frigga - ties in from end of Thor through beginning of Thor: The Dark World</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tether and Torch

                There is a misconception in Asgard that Odin is strong. That he is an unshakeable rock to which all moorings are safely tethered and the boats need not fear for he can break any storm’s back.

It is wrong.

                No one at the feast notices their king’s averted gaze ( _he is the Allfather, of course he will not engage in such frivolity_ ), and Frigga does a remarkable job of smiling and maintaining the appearance of a benevolent, happy queen when she speaks with Sif ( _“that little bitch had no right-“)_ and the Warriors Three  ( _“If they had had a_ lick _of sense-“_ ) all receive her most amiable greetings. The crowds are heedless. They do not notice her restless gaze and the tightening of her hand into the folds of her dress. They do not even notice Thor’s misplaced glances to his right.

                Odin is a liar, but he is no silvertongue and some masks are impossible for him to maintain. This is why his gaze rests far on the sparkling, jagged end of the Bifrost. It is a strange thought, ‘the end of the Bifrost.’ He shudders slightly, the movement hidden by his heavy armor. _“I could have done it, Father!”_ And how, how, _how_ had he thought ‘no’ was an appropriate response?

                When Thor comes up to him, Odin has to struggle not to retch into a nearby server’s tray. “ _Nor a better father?” All of them are better, you git._ They would not see their youngest son’s face falling away from them as an overlay on every scene. They would not have sent him plummeting into the Void.

                Part of Odin is determined that Loki lives, that his trickster son is far too clever to be killed by something so simple as the Bifrost-opened wormhole ripped into the fabric of Asgard’s atmosphere. For all that the Aesir mock Loki’s wiles and sleight of hand, he has always been the better brother at surviving. Thor may be able to take a mountain collapsing on him and walk away with only a few scratches, but Loki would catch the falling debris and form it into a palace at which all would marvel. There is no reason why the void should not be used likewise.

                It is the possibility of this that scares him more than Loki’s death. Loki is a survivor, and he will most likely survive the Void – or, at least, his body will. The things that come back, though, are never what they once were, and with the pain rage hurt betrayal raging through Loki when he fell, Odin can only fear the twisted, broken caricature that will come back to them. Perhaps it is better if the boy dies and does not come to burn all the realms down. The thought makes his gut clench and twist as if trying to rid him of a poison. He does not mention it to Frigga.

                Their chambers are quiet when he enters, and he is unsurprised to see his wife sitting on the balcony with her legs dangling over and skirts hitched up to her knees. Despite the protests of his old joints, he creaks down beside her. Her hand, slender and delicate to his gnarled fingers, takes hold of his, and relief sweeps through him at her strong grip. She is his anchor, his tether to life. Without her, he would still be the Wanderer, capering about the realms and starting as much mischief as his sons. Without her, he would not have his sons.

                He lifts her hand, kissing the knuckles, and she smiles a thin, tired thing before he leans against her, his bulwark.

                “I-” he starts to apologize, but she shakes her head and silences him.

                They sit there and they watch the night stretch into darkness, and they watch the stars as they dance and burn and die, and they watch until one day Heimdall comes and tells them that there is a broken fragment of their son waging war against the mortals, and only then do they move. Thor is sent with his father’s firm orders and his mother’s loving prayers. They do not mention the other’s words despite knowing them by heart. Though their children have ever seen Frigga and Odin as separate entities, in the end they have been married far too long to truly be apart.

                They watch the destruction from their balcony, Frigga gripping his hand and trying to close her eyes against this shade puppetting her son’s body. Odin holds her close and once again thinks that it would be more merciful for Loki to die on Midgard than at his hands. This time, it is a selfish wish. He does not want that blood on his hands, because it is not his blood, but his son’s blood is far, far worse.

                Loki saunters into the throne room, his jagged, laughing gaze taunting and haughty as if he cannot see the chains dragging against the floor are attached to him. Odin hardens his heart and lifts the helm of King of Asgard and pushes away the weakness of Father. He is hard and cruel and wicked, and the pain that flickers briefly through the traitor’s mask of nonchalance causes a twinge in the father but satisfaction in the king. Loki needs someone to hate, to rage against, to focus all his brokenness and darkness and agony on, and Odin can be this. He can be the enemy, the one to take Loki’s half-hidden wounds and grind salt into them with the edge of a blade. He can be what Loki already expects him to be.

                Frigga is the one who comforts their son, who brings him books and furniture and her image if not her presence. She will stand by her fire, seidr projecting her into his cell, and when Odin comes, she will offer him a faint smile and let him stand beside her that he might see his son, even if he only ever hears the same vitriol over and over. Later, she will smile and remind him that he once complained of his father with a similar amount of derision and only some less hate. He grumbles that it was not so, but she reminds him of the times he would run away, the pranks he would cause entirely to ruin his father’s day, of the time he hanged himself to terrorize his father (that had at least ended with better consequences than most, but the original intent had been little more than the petulant wish to hurt).

                He leans against her and he feels his hair whiten and his wrinkles grow and he thanks the Norns that no matter the chaos of the realms, he has her. She smiles and kisses him and tells him of the children that are playing in her gardens, tended as ever by the mild Sigyn, and she chides him when he is too harsh and loves him always.

                When he enters, raging and grumbling about their son’s infatuation with the mortal, Frigga closes her book and watches him with one eyebrow lifted. She asks if he really called Jane a goat, and he grumbles and glares at the fire pit. Laughter rings out, and Frigga pulls him down onto the windowseat beside her, teasing her foolish, beloved old man. He sighs and leans into the window frame and watches the golden city.

                “With Thor as king,” he starts, “we could travel once more – or find a home in Vanaheim.”

                She smiles at his hopeful suggestion, but the heaviness in her eyes remains. She has been with Loki, and Odin can feel the hopelessness swallowing his own half-plea like an answering scream.

                “You know I can’t leave my boys,” she chuckles, brushing a thumb across his wizened cheek, “You’d all be lost if I did.”

                He smiles at his anchor, his tether and his torch, and he wonders how the throne could have become his when she was just under his parents’ noses. ( _That she had been his mother’s handmaiden and a captive may have had something to do with it_.) She smiles back and promises to make his apologies to Jane. He admits he should do it instead and she agrees.

                They are quiet for a few moments longer, basking in each other’s presence like an old cat and the sun, before Frigga suggests they look along Vanaheim’s coast for their new home. Its beautiful view and proximity to the Bifrost site are certainly advantages, Odin agrees. A warm smile creases Frigga’s face, and he can’t help but think that he has never seen a more beautiful creature in all his long life than this clever, caring woman whose presence alone holds him from flying to pieces. She grips his hand and they are reminded that they have only a little more time with the burden of being king and queen. They smile together towards the future.

               

               

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, much as Odin's a total ass, I still like him. Well, sort of. I was really tempted to flip him off while in the theater until I remembered he wouldn't see it, but I feel like there's probably a lot more to him than we see in the films. And Frigga is the shit.


End file.
